


carry on, carry on

by aftersh0cks



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Depression, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, Self Harm, may be triggering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-26
Updated: 2013-02-26
Packaged: 2017-12-03 16:22:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/700237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aftersh0cks/pseuds/aftersh0cks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the second semester of Grantaire's freshman year, and he only hopes it goes better than the first. But hey, he has a boyfriend, auditions for the school play are coming up and he's becoming a better artist daily. What could possibly go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	carry on, carry on

Grantaire would like to think that if he hadn’t been dragged into auditions, this wouldn’t have happened.

Okay, it probably would have in some way or another, but it was certainly a catalyst. And he wasn’t _dragged_ here, he came of his own accord, encouraged by all eight of his friends. It’s the Monday after Christmas break, meaning he’s had time to get used to his classes (except gym, and they’re doing swimming starting tomorrow, which kind of makes Grantaire want to have a heart attack) and Enjolras has had ample time to be given a talking-to in AP World History for setting off on a tirade about the Eurocentrism of history (and they’re still doing Mesopotamia and the Indus Valley).

The audition spots are ten people each, so he knows everyone here, except the girl, Musichetta, who’s in his drama class already and getting to know Joly quite well. Grantaire’s the first one called up, which is kind of shit, so he spouts some monologue he found on the Internet and sits down and begins reflecting on how terrible his performance was.

“You did good,” Enjolras says, smiling, and Grantaire manages a grin back, though he doesn’t feel like it. Enjolras is called up next and as usual, he’s amazing.

Slowly, everyone does their monologue, and he weighs who’s going to get in and who’s not and by the end he has nine people on the “definitely will be cast” side and one person on the “definitely not going to be cast” side, that is to say, himself.

Callbacks are automatic, and he debates whether he should go to them in the first place, but Courfeyrac slings an arm over his shoulders and begs, and Enjolras says, “You’re going to be cast, come on Grantaire, please?”

“I’ll think about it,” Grantaire says. They all hop on the buses to head to the Cafe Musain, the teenage-boy awarded best coffee place in Los Angeles. None of them are actually old enough to drive yet. Grantaire just turned fifteen in December (pesky freshmen, they are) and Enjolras is fifteen in June.

Sometimes it’s easy to forget that Enjolras is fourteen years old, because he’s eloquent and wordy and too smart for his own good, and sometimes it’s really easy to remember.

They all take a seat at the Musain’s biggest table. Enjolras and Jehan order coffees, because Enjolras has been addicted ever since he was twelve and Jehan’s just a flat-out hipster. He walks into Grantaire’s English class five to ten minutes late with Starbucks every day.

“Congratulations, congratulations,” Courfeyrac says, getting out of his chair. If anyone’s going to be in one of the student one-acts, it’s him, because Courf is loud and slightly obnoxious which screams “theatre kid,” if the singing and dancing in the hallways don’t. “You all have done great on the auditions. I will see you all at rehearsal, and hopefully, the same rehearsal.” Courfeyrac bows before sitting back down and ordering a corned beef sandwich.

Grantaire can’t really express how lucky he is to have friends like these, and a boyfriend who seems to be the most perfect person he’s ever known. Courfeyrac holds a toast, and Grantaire joins in, though he doesn’t believe he’ll get cast in anything. It’s just a big gathering of friends after that until they are forced to leave the Musain and Enjolras waves good-bye to Grantaire as he hops on the bus back to his house.

His parents aren’t movie stars, but he comes from money, which is why his house is huge and his room is big. It’s also increasingly lonely. Grantaire has a twin sister, but she rarely ever talks to him, which is kind of sad because apparently twins were supposed to be connected.

Really, the only thing Nicholas and Alyssa Grantaire share is a birthday and a last name.

Grantaire kicks back on his couch as soon as he gets into his room and plugs in his iPod, putting his music on shuffle. He has over four thousand songs on his iPod and can proudly say he’s listened to every one of them. He changes into sweatpants and sets up some paints.

“Turn it down, Nick!” Alyssa yells from outside his room.

“Make me!” Grantaire shouts back, and turns the music up, mostly because he hates the nickname “Nick”. He prefers Grantaire, you can call him Nicholas, but if you call him Nick, he will not be happy. (Nicky and you’ll be suspended from the ceiling within five minutes.) He checks to make sure his door is locked and then rolls up his sleeves, because he really wants to paint right now— _painting, better than drinking_ , Enjolras had told him once, and hell if he’s not hating himself for his sub-par audition.

Grantaire’s room is more of an art studio than a room. It’s also the coolest room he’s ever seen, because his walls stretch up to the ceiling and his bed is a loft rather than an actual bed, and he has his desk under his bed and where he sleeps is like a room-within-a-room because he can pull curtains around it and still have enough room to sit on the floor at the side of his bed and stretch out his legs without them dangling over the edge.

Most of his room is covered with painting and color and art supplies, because Grantaire likes painting and color and art.  His parents made him put a backdrop where he paints in one corner of the room; the entire room is lit by giant bay windows that provide a very comfortable place to nap.

He painted his room white with white carpet, mostly because he _knows_ by the end of his stay here (four years at least; his parents promised) his room will be covered in different colors of paint. His bedspread is Van Gogh’s Starry Nights. His ceiling has stars dangling from it (courtesy of Jehan).

Really, it’s his space, and he wouldn’t give it up for anything.

He dips his paintbrush into blue and starts painting the sky. 


End file.
